FLYTOWER

'Flytower' was a delightfully subtle though monumental work by the artistic duo of Ackroyd & Harvey. The duo, consisting of husband and wife team Dan Harvey and Heather Ackroyd, were not intending to create a monument with the project; Heather said it was really in the subtelty of the work that she found its power. As a memeber of the team who helped to slather clay on the walls of the National Theatre's Flytower, and then embedded specially germinated grass seeds, I found the monumentality was in the preparation. And indeed, what a phenomenal process we as a team went through. Artists, actors, musicians, students all climbed the scaffolding over a grey weekend at the end of April 2007, and worked our way down to the ground as Dan and his co-waterers followed us with their sprays and splashes of water. For Heather and Dan, this was the largest scale project they had attempted to date. Aside from a church in north London which they turned inside out by planting all the interior walls with grass, the duo had also been known for manipulating photosynthesis in order to have images grow out from the clay base. Truly astounding work!
'Flytower' was part of an arts festival along London's South Bank, that saw dozens of casts of Antony Gormley along rooftops and on both sides of Waterloo Bridge. One even found its way atop the Flytower much to the annoyance of Ackroyd and Harvey. In the end, however, I feel Gormley's blatant presence atop 'Flytower' only heightened the project's elegant simplicity and powerfully evocative message(s). Here is Gormley, the archetype of celebrity artist, tres recherché, a la mode; working on a project which speaks volumes about him (not to dismiss any deeper connotations; I am only offering a cursory glance for comparison's sake). And here is a grass covered concrete block. My point is that, even without knowing how many people worked on either project, the one says me while the other says us. And that is precisely what Ackroyd and Harvey project through their work. They care about us, about our environment, and about the manner in which we treat our planet. These two are not fanatical do or die environmentalists, nor is it right to say they are Bolly Bolsheviks; they are two individuals who want to insert the germ of a thought into your mind. They want you to pause and reflect: why is that covered in grass? why grass? why is it so strange and compelling all at once? And then you walk away thinking about...well at some point your thoughts will return to that odd site and you'll continue to reflect.
The process was remarkably simple, if not arduous, and for some of us a bit back-breaking. Clay was mixed down on the NT's terrace, a bit of horse hair (in this case synthetic substitute) added for the roots to grip, and hoisted up a pulley to the clayers and seeders on the scaffolding. Clayers and seeders each worked on a space about two metres wide on the north and west sides of the tower. We started all the way at the top, wore construction kit and helmets (absolutely necessary for the taller of us, as nuts and bolts tended to cause head-pain; and were everywhere fastened keeping us in the air), and simply slathered the goopedy gunck all over the rough concrete; in two layers thick; so that your finger would squish it in slightly leaving a mark. We sat, kneeled and stood. The cleverer amongst us brought cushions, and one really clever northerner brought a fitness ball (causing me to salivate as my creeky knees strained to find a comfortable position). There was one frightening moment when one team memeber slipped on the wet, clay covered wood plank and her leg fell between the scaffolding and the wall. We lifted her out, and after the intial shock wore off everything carried on as before.

Once the clay was applied we patted handfuls of seed over the entire expanse. The seeds were brought from the depths of the NT's plant rooms. On the terrace on team member sat and tended the seeds; keeping them aerated and moist. They were pullied up to us, several greens bags per bucket on the hoist. We went through them fast. You might imagine how much seed is required to cover two such large expanses of wall; and how difficult it would be to make every single seed stik in place. There was run-off , and there were mutliple applications. Heather came around to see that everything was going well, and enough clay (not too little or too much) as well as seed was being applied. The seed supply was limited so we had to try and waste as little as possible in the fallout from our hands. We scooped it up from plywood boards arranged to catch the run-off. Still, weeks later when the grass had grown, it was a delight to find clumps of it sprouting from the most unusual places all around the terrace below. As we worked our way down over the course of three days, we grew increasingly sore and tired. It was hard work. But worth it. Imagine the sense of accomplishment one gets from planting what is essentially a vertical lawn. Astounding.

Once the major work was done, it was Dan who sat on the proverbial egg, as it were. The scaffolding remained in place for two weeks, during which time Dan was out watering at all hours; staying nearby the way a parent would. I walked over Waterloo Bridge several times to check the progress, waved at Dan on the roof, and tried to distinguish the rate of growth through the protective mesh. When the scaffolding did come down, depsite any intial beige patches, I was levelled. I knew that in most people's minds it would be the subtelty Heather talked to me about that would affect them the most. Yet, for me, all I saw was monumentality; and it struck me how everyday the monumental really is. You see, throughout the process, we team-members were so absorbed in the work that thoughts of gigantism were far from our minds. We were nonetheless amazed at what we were accomplishing, and that's the point. We had such fun, and so many laughs, made new friends and strengthened existing bonds, that in the end the mammoth scale was rendered subtle even to us who covered those massive walls in clay and seed with our bare hands.